Joan of Arc Biography Part 21

By Jules Michelet The Maid of Orleans

In reality, it was not to the interest
of the English that she should resume
her man's dress^ and so make null and
void a retractation obtained with such
difficulty. But at this moment, their
rage no longer knew any bounds.
Saintrailles had just made a bold
attempt upon Rouen. It would have
been a hicky hit to have swept oflf the
judges from the judgment-seat, and
have carried Winchester and Bedford
to Poitiers; the latter was, subse
quently, all but taken on his return,
between Bouen and Paris. As long
as this accursed girl lived, who, be
yond a doubt, continued in prison to
practice her sorceries, there was no
safety for the English: perish, she
must.

The assessors, who had notice in
male attire? In this, both the Catholic and the
Protestant historian sink into the mere Englishman.
stantly given them of her change of
dress, found some hundred English in
the court to obstruct their passage ;
who, thinking that if these doctors
entered, they might spoil all, threat
ened them with their axes and swords,
and chased them out, calling them
traitors of Armagnacs. Cauchon, in
troduced with much difficulty, as
sumed an air of gayety to pay his
court to Warwick, and said with a
laugh, " She is caught."

On the Monday, he returned along
with the inquisitor and eight assess
ors, to question the Pucelle, and ask
her why she had resumed that dress.
She made no excuse, but bravely fac
ing the danger, said that the dress was
fitter for her as long as she was
guarded by men, and that faith had
not been kept with her. Her saints,
too, had told her, " that it was great
pity she had abjured to save her life."
Still, she did not refuse to resume
woman's dress. " Put me in a seemly
and safe prison," she said, " I will be
good, and do whatever the Church
shall wish."

On leaving her, the bishop encoun
tered Warwick and a crowd of English; and to show himself a good Eng
lishman, he said in their tongue,
"Farewell, farewell." This joyous
adieu was about synonymous with
" Good evening, good evening ; all's
over."

On the Tuesday, the judges got up
at the archbishop's palace a court of
assessors as they best might ; some of
them had assisted at the first sittings
only, others at none : in fact, com
posed of men of all sorts, priests,
legists, and even three physicians.
The judges recapitulated to them
what had taken place, and asked their
opinion. This opinion, quite different
from what was expected, was that the
prisoner should be summoned, and her
act of abjuration be read over to her.
Whether this was in the power of the
judges is doubtful. In the midst of
the fury and swords of a raging sol
diery, there was in reality no judge,
and no possibiUty of judgment. Blood
was the one thing wanted ; and that
of the judges was, perhaps, not far
from flowing. They hastily drew up
a summons, to be served the next
morning at eight o'clock : she was not
to appear, save to be burnt.

Cauchon sent her a confessor in the
morning, brother Martin PAdvenu, "to
prepare her for her death, and per
suade her to repentance. . . . And
when he apprized her of the death she
was to die that day, she began to cry
out grievously, to give way, and tear
her hair : - ' Alas I am I to be treated
so horribly and cruelly ? must my body,
pure as from birth, and which was
never contaminated, be this day con
sumed and reduced to ashes? Hal
ha ! I would rather be beheaded seven
times over than be burnt on this wise.
... Oh ! I make my appeal to God,
the great judge of the wrongs and
grievances done me ! ' "

After this burst of grief, she re
covered herself and confessed. she
then asked to communicate. The
brother was embarrassed; but con
sulting the bishop, the latter told him
to administer the sacrament, ''and
whatever else she might ask." Thus,
at the very moment he condemned
her as a relapsed heretic, and cut her
off from the Church, he gave her all
that the Church gives to her faithful.

.
Perhaps a last sentiment of humanity
awoke in the heart of the wicked
judge : he considered it enough to
burn the poor creature, without driv
ing her to despair, and damning her.
Perhaps, also, the wicked priest,
through freethinking levity, allowed
her to receive the sacraments as a
thing of no consequence, which, after
all, might serve to calm and silence the
sufiferer. . . . Besides, it was at
tempted to do it privately, and the
eucharist was brought without stole
and light. But the monk complained,
and the Church of Rouen, duly warned,
was delighted to show what it thought
of the judgment pronounced by C?au
chon ; it sent along with the body of
Christ numerous torches and a large
escort of priests, who sang litanies,
and, as they passed through the
streets, told the kneeling people,
" Pray for her."

After partaking of the communion,
which she received with abundance of
tears, she perceived the bishop, and
addressed him with the words, " Bish
op, I die through you. . . ." And,
again, " Had you put me in the pris
ons of the Church, and given me
ghostly keepers, this would not have
happened. . . . And for this, I sum
mon you to answer before God."

Then, seeing among the bystanders
Pierre Morice, one of the preachers
by whom she had been addressed, she
said to him, "Ah, master Pierre, where
shall I be this evening?" - "Have
you not good hope in the Lord ? " -
" Oh 1 yes ; God to aid, I shall be in
Paradise."

It was nine o'clock: she was dressed
in female attire, and placed on a cart.
On one side of her was brother Martin
Ladvenu ; the constable, Massieu, was
on the other. The Augustine monk,
brother Isambart, who had already
displayed such charity and courage,
would not quit her. It is stated that
the wretched Loyseleur also ascended
the cart, to ask her pardon: but for
the earl of Warwick, the English
would have killed him.*

* This, however, is only a rumor (Audivit dici.
. . .), a dramatic incident, with which popular tra
dition has, perhaps, gratnitonsly adorned the tale.

Up to this moment the Pucelle had
never despaired, wiih the exception,
perhaps, of her temptation in the Pas
sion week. While saying, as she at
times would say, " These English will
kill me," she in reality did not think
so. She did not imagine that she
could ever be deserted. She had faith
in her king, in the good people of
France. She had said expressly,
"There will be some disturbance
either ia prison or at the trial, by
which I shall be delivered, . . . great
ly, victoriously delivered." . . . But
though king and people deserted her,
she had another source of aid, and a
far more powerful and certain one,
from her friends above, her kind and
dear saints. . . . When she was as
saulting Saint-Pierre, and deserted by
her followers, her saints sent an invisi
ble army to her aid. How could they
abandon their obedient girl; they who
had so often promised her sc^ety and
deliverance, . .

What then must her thoughts have
been, when she saw that she must die;
when, carried in a cart, she passed
through a trembling crowd, under the
guard of eight hundred Englishmen
armed with sword and lance. She
wept and bemoaned herself, yet re
proached neither her king nor her
saints. . . She was only heard to
utter, '' Rouen, Bouen 1 must I then
die here ? "